by Leslie Kelly
No question, if she’d been anybody else, he would have made love to her right there on the bathroom counter an hour ago. They’d probably be in the middle of their second or third encounter right now.
“Not happening,” he reminded himself. Unfortunately.
A few minutes later, after he was dressed and back in control of his raging hormones, Troy left his room. Noticing Venus’s open door and empty suite, he headed downstairs alone. The house was quiet, and he wondered if Max and Leo had returned. Spying Mrs. Harris in the foyer, he asked her.
“Mr. Longotti is in with her,” the gray-haired woman said in a loud whisper, nodding toward the closed office door.
“Is he all right?”
She frowned, nearly clucking in disapproval. “He looked very pale and tired when he and Mr. Gallagher returned.” The way the housekeeper said Leo’s name hinted at what she thought of the man. “Too much excitement.”
“I would suspect Ms. Messina’s arrival was quite a surprise for him,” Troy said, not wanting to put the woman in an uncomfortable position, but needing to see if she could provide any useful information. After all, she knew Max better than just about anybody else. “I’m sure it will make him very happy, though, if it turns out to be true, and she is his grandchild.”
“Of course it will,” the woman replied. “Never was a man who loved his son more than Mr. Longotti. Losing him the way he did, so soon after he’d lost Miss Violet…it wasn’t fair.”
Troy tilted his head in confusion. “Miss Violet?”
The woman nodded. “Mrs. Longotti.”
That explained why the name Violet had been important on the back of the mysterious baby photo. And why Max had been so keenly interested in Venus’s name.
“She passed on when Max Jr. was in high school,” Mrs. Harris continued, “just a few years before he left. I often thought that’s why he went. Mr. Longotti couldn’t let her go. He repainted the house, filled it with different shades of violet, and Max Jr. couldn’t stand the constant reminders.”
Troy knew Max was a widower, but didn’t realize how long ago he’d lost his wife. No wonder the man seemed so alone. He had been for a very long time. “Sad,” he murmured.
Mrs. Harris nodded and lowered her voice further. “Yes, it is. Which is why I’m hoping Mr. Gallagher knows what he’s doing. I don’t think Mr. Longotti could handle another loss. He’s not been well, anyway. If he grows to care about this young woman, and she turns out not to be Max’s daughter, he’s going to be badly hurt. He could break down again….”
She quickly glanced away, as if realizing she’d said too much. Troy certainly wasn’t going to pry.
At that moment, movement in the front living room caught his eye. Leo stood there, staring absently out the window.
Perfect. Troy very much wanted to speak with the man. After thanking Mrs. Harris, he joined Leo, pausing to make himself a drink at the well-stocked wet bar.
“How was Max’s appointment?” he asked, keeping a note of casual interest in his voice as he took a seat on one of the overstuffed sofas.
“All right,” Leo replied, his lips twisted into what probably was supposed to be a smile. “He has to have some more tests later in the week. He’s too old to work himself as hard as he does and the doctors are concerned.”
The man still stood at the window, moving his gaze between the lawn and Troy.
“Quite a shock he got today.”
Leo nodded. “Oh, yes. I haven’t seen Uncle Max quite so pleased in a long, long time.”
“Yes, I’m sure. How fortunate you were to find the missing child after all these years.” Troy paused to sip his drink. “When did you say you came up with the idea to have an investigator look in the New York area?”
Leo visibly stiffened. “Recently. I didn’t want to raise Uncle Max’s hopes, though, which is why I didn’t mention it until I had all the information.”
“And everything happened to occur last week.” Just two days after I arrived.
“Yes.” The man smiled thinly. “How unfortunate that you came up here to Atlanta for nothing.”
“Oh? I don’t understand,” Troy said, though he understood full well where Leo was headed.
“Well,” the man explained, “it’s possible Max will rethink his strategy. He does, after all, have a grandchild to think of.”
“You mean you don’t think he’ll sell?”
Before Leo could answer, a door opened and warm laughter filled the foyer. Troy watched intently, seeing Max exit his office with Venus on his arm.
Venus. Troy had to lower his head to hide a chuckle when he saw her. She looked positively wicked in a short black leather skirt that showed off long bare legs to perfection. A flouncy white peasant blouse hung right at the edges of her shoulders. Her high-heeled black shoes made her tower over Max. And her hair was poufed up in a mass of curls which added another couple of inches to her already considerable height.
Judging by the look on his face, Max didn’t seem to care. He looked completely delighted in her company.
“Troy, Leo,” he said as they entered the room, “you must have Venus tell you how she and her foster family used to use the Longotti Lines catalog to decorate their home.”
Leo raised an arrogant brow. “I didn’t imagine your childhood home to be the type in need of interior design.”
Troy stiffened, wondering if the guy had to work hard at always sounding like a pretentious ass.
Max ignored his nephew and took a seat on a sofa near the front window. “Troy, as I was saying, Venus and her foster mother were big fans of our catalogs. They used to cut out the pictures and tape them to the walls. They’d redo the look of their entire apartment every season.”
Venus grinned. “Can I confess that it wasn’t always the Longotti Lines catalog?”
Max put his index finger over his lips and frowned. “Shh. Don’t ruin the story.”
“Sorry. But, frankly, we were limited to the catalogs the doctors had on the tables in the waiting room at the health clinic—because we had to steal ’em, of course.”
“Very nice,” Leo murmured.
She smirked, obviously enjoying goading Leo, who was so blatant in his disapproval.
“Don’t you need to get home?” Max asked Leo, giving him a pointed stare. “Your mother said you were supposed to take her to the club this evening.”
That was another thing Troy couldn’t stand about Leo. The man still lived with his mother, for God’s sake.
“Yes, I should,” Leo replied. “Now, Uncle Max, don’t forget to take your pills,” he said. “And please you mustn’t forget again about your next appointment.”
He left quickly, pausing only long enough to bid a pleasant goodbye to Max and Venus and a not-so-friendly one to Troy.
“He makes my teeth hurt,” the old man muttered once Leo was gone.
Venus snorted a laugh, as if she understood exactly what Max meant. Considering the number of times he’d clenched his jaw when Leo was around, Troy thought he did, too.
“Treats me like I’m an imbecile,” Max continued. “I tell myself he means well. He took over quite a lot—a little too much—when he said I kept forgetting appointments or missing deadlines.” Max glanced at Troy and gave him an approving nod. “Now, I have you to do that, though.”
“Yes, you do,” Troy said, “and I’ll update you after dinner on some of the meetings I had this morning.”
Max shrugged, as if uninterested. “I tried to like Leo when my brother married his mother. He was five or six then.” He stroked his jaw absently as he stared out the front window. “But I just couldn’t take to the kind of kid who’d constantly torment my boy with wet willies and arm burns, or run and tattle whenever Maxie did the slightest thing wrong.”
Maxie. Max Jr. Beside him, he saw Venus stiffen ever so slightly. No one else would even have noticed. But Troy was very much in tune to her every movement right now, particularly because of what they’d shared in his bathroom e
arlier.
Max gave a rather evil-sounding chuckle. “Not that my Maxie couldn’t hold his own. He might have been a few years younger, but he was a quick one. Talked circles around Leo.” Obviously lost in memory, he slapped his own knee in delight. “Tricked Leo into playing cowboys and tied him to a telephone pole down the road one day, just so he could get some peace from the whining, he said.”
Even Venus smiled briefly. Then she glanced away, still obviously uncomfortable. Max didn’t seem to notice. “I had to punish him, a’course. But my Maxie didn’t have so much trouble with Leo after that day.”
Before Max could comment further, Mrs. Harris stepped in to tell him he had a phone call. He picked up the receiver on a side table and quickly became engrossed in a conversation.
Informing them dinner would be ready shortly, Mrs. Harris exited, leaving Troy and Venus alone, staring at one another.
“So,” Troy said, determined to steer the conversation away from Max’s late son, “you covered your bedroom walls with pictures from catalogs. My twin brother always preferred those Pamela Anderson-type posters.”
The tension faded from her face as she snickered. “Oh, you mean there’s actually blood running through the veins of someone in your family?”
He laughed softly at the jibe, glad he’d distracted her. “You weren’t complaining about me being cold-blooded an hour ago.” In a soft whisper, he mimicked her. “Oh, Troy, please.”
“Screw you,” she said with a good-natured grin.
He tsked. “I thought we already discussed that.”
Apparently unwilling to be drawn into a sensual conversation, she ignored him. “I suppose you decorated your room with wide panoramic views of Fort Knox or perhaps mountains of dollar bills.”
“Certainly not ones,” Troy replied smoothly.
She rolled her eyes. “But, I’m sure, nothing as tasteless as pin-up girls.”
“From fourteen on, I didn’t need posters,” he said, daring her to figure out what he meant.
She didn’t even try. “Well, I did. When I hit my teenage years I started swiping the People magazines and covering my walls with pictures of Kevin Bacon and Tom Cruise.”
“I assume that was before you’d reached your current height?”
“Hey, no short jokes about my honey Tom,” she retorted with a chuckle. “For him, I might just rethink my ‘no guys shorter or lighter than me’ rule.”
Troy stepped closer, until they stood nearly eye to eye. Even with her heels and poufed-up hair, she still couldn’t quite match his height. He shook his head and murmured, “No, I think you’re better off sticking with your rule. You need someone bigger who can keep you from walking all over him.”
Her lips curved. “Better men have tried, darlin’.”
“Oh, I’m sure some men have tried, but not better men.” He let her see the confidence in his stare and drove his point home. “At least not for the past nine months or so.”
A slow flush rose in her cheeks. Damn, he loved that he could make this unflappable woman blush. She was obviously thinking about exactly what he’d wanted her to—the way she’d felt in his arms an hour before.
She wouldn’t give up, however, and whispered, “Coulda been anyone.”
The dig didn’t phase him. “But it wasn’t, Venus.” Turning slightly to block Max’s view—not that the man was paying them any attention—he ran the tip of his index finger down her cheek to the corner of her full lips. “It was me.”
Not giving her a chance to reply, he walked away and took a seat opposite Max. The man finished his conversation and hung up the phone. His eyes shone with interest as he stared speculatively between his houseguests. Maybe he’d been paying more attention than Troy had thought.
Troy mentally kicked himself for letting Venus get to him in front of Max. He needed to be more discreet. Unfortunately, the return of his sex drive wasn’t taking into account that it wasn’t very appropriate to lust after your boss’s potential family members right in front of your boss.
“Can I help myself at the bar?” Venus asked Max, still looking flushed and slightly confused. Troy liked that he’d put the hungry look on her face, even as he wondered whether Max noticed.
“Please do,” Max said.
Venus made her way over to the bar and poured herself a glass of wine. She glanced over her shoulder at Troy. “I owe you one, don’t I?”
Glancing at his empty glass, he shrugged, wondering about the spark of mischief in the redhead’s eyes. “All right, thank you,” he murmured, more than ready to take her challenge.
In a few moments, she walked toward him, carrying two glasses. She pressed one into his hand, leaning close enough to whisper, “Now we’re even.”
They weren’t anywhere close to even, not that he was going to call her on it in front of Max. Before he could think of a way to discreetly remind her of the way he’d made her come with just a few kisses and caresses, he noticed the wicked look on her face. Then he glanced lower, at the view of her perfect breasts, fully revealed when she bent over in the loose blouse.
Her bra was tiny and black. Completely wrong with a white top. Not apparently that she gave a damn. It plumped up. Pushed out. Tempted beyond belief. He almost hissed as he tried to breathe.
Her confident smile as she finally straightened and took a seat next to Max told him she knew it, too. Yes, she was definitely capable of some payback. She knew just which of his buttons to push. He apparently hadn’t been very subtle in his visual appreciation of her lush breasts when she’d dropped her towel up in the bathroom.
Not that any red-blooded man could have been.
Striving for control, he finally sipped his drink. The strong flavor seemed very appropriate. Sweet, milky and creamy. Luscious but with a kick of heat—just like he imagined her soft skin would taste.
He sipped again, meeting her eye, as he licked the liquid off his lips. “It’s very good,” he said, making no effort to disguise the true direction of his thoughts. “I’m thirstier than I thought.”
“I’m glad you like it. I’d be happy to give you another,” she replied, her voice sounding a little breathless.
“So, exactly what is it?” Max asked, leaning over to stare suspiciously at the concoction.
Troy shifted in his seat, barely listening as Venus listed the ingredients. “One of my favorites. Irish Cream, coffee liqueur, almond liqueur and vodka,” she explained. Then she paused, catching Troy’s eye, making sure she had his undivided attention.
He had to ask, because she so wanted him to. “What’s it called, Venus?”
Her wicked stare gave him a five-second warning. Then she lowered her voice to a sultry purr. “It’s a screaming orgasm.”
6
THOUGH THE BED was huge and comfortable, Venus slept fitfully her first night in Max Longotti’s house. The comforter was one of those fancy fluffy ones that she was scared to actually use, so she folded it up and put it on a chair instead. Her window was just above a dramatic fountain on the side lawn, which gurgled and gushed all night, so she had to get up to go to the bathroom at least a half-dozen times. She sourly hoped the constant flushing kept her next-door neighbor awake.
The sheets were slick and satin instead of percale, making her wonder if she was going to slide right off the bed and knock herself unconscious. What a picture that would make for the maid in the morning. Naked Venus out cold on the floor, with a robin’s egg knot on her head.
Not Venus on the half shell…Venus on a gurney.
To top it all off, the scent of lilacs wafted from a flower arrangement on the dresser. Lilacs always made her think of dead people. Not a good mental image before sleep.
No, she didn’t fit in here, in spite of how much she’d enjoyed the hour she’d spent with Max Longotti in his office yesterday afternoon. The room made that obvious. As had, of course, dinner the night before.
Dinner? More like disaster.
She pulled a pillow over her face and groaned into
it.
The silverware hadn’t been too bad. She’d remembered what Troy said about the salad forks. And there hadn’t been an army of servants, just Mrs. Harris and a maid. The table had been big, but not so huge that she couldn’t talk with Max, who sat at the head, or Troy, who sat directly across from her.
But who on earth could have known the soup was supposed to be cold, the fish supposed to be raw and the pretty fruit garnish supposed to be for decoration only, not for eating? After scrunching up her nose and wondering why Max wasn’t complaining about the temperature of the soup, she’d followed the lead of the men at the table and suffered through it.
There was no way, however, she could suffer through raw fish. They might call the appetizer sushi, she called it bait. She’d—very delicately, she thought—spit a mouthful of the stuff into her napkin, hiding the maneuver behind a cough.
Troy had seen, of course. When he’d rolled his eyes in disapproval, she’d considered sticking her tongue out at him, but had settled for a haughty chin lift instead.
By the time they reached the main course, she’d been so determined not to make any more faux pas that she tried to force herself to eat the undercooked roast beef, even though it was bloody enough to still be mooing.
Venus was a well-done woman.
She’d tried holding her breath while chewing really fast and had ended up nearly choking. Knocking over her wineglass while reaching for her water, she’d said a prayer the meat would cut off her oxygen supply quickly, so she’d pass out and avoid any further mortification.
No such luck. Troy, Mr. Hero, leapt around the table, hoisted her out of her chair and Heimliched her so fast she barely even saw the hunk of raw meat flying out of her mouth and into the pretty carnation centerpiece.
“At least it didn’t hit Max in the head,” she muttered aloud. Thank goodness for small favors. And, thankfully, Max had seemed to accept her claim that she’d had a really long day and wanted to go to her room right after dinner. Bad idea. She’d been trapped in here for hours, needing sleep the way a politician needed votes.
